Fundamental Love
by solaas
Summary: An old woman on a bench in the park. What was her life like, and how did it tie in with Heaven?


He stands behind the great, ancient sycamore tree watching her. She sits alone on the bench, watching the ducks. Her walker stands next to her. An empty paper bag lies in her lap, with only a few tiny crumbs of bread left in it.

He watches as she folds the bag neatly together. She does it slowly and gingerly, her fingers are not as nimble and sure as they once were. He remembers them; strong, straight, precise and beautiful. Now they are weak, bent and gnarled from many decades of hard work. There is beauty in them still. The beauty of a life lived.

Her hair is almost white, with highlights of silver and streaks of faded black in between. Soft, fading curls that once were tight and black. He remembers those curls, remembers how they felt beneath his hands and between his fingers. And those dimples, deep in her soft, youthful cheeks.

She folds the paper bag into a small square and tucks it into the pocket of her coat, then sighs a bit and goes back to watching the ducks. Her old, gnarled hands are laid to rest in her lap. They have worked hard for more than eighty years now; carried water and firewood, woven carpets, washed an uncountable number of clothes, scrubbed floors, cooked, chastened and caressed. Sometimes clenched in anxiety, other times in pain, anger or grief.

He studies her intently, from behind that magnificent tree. Perhaps he wonders why she sits there alone. As he reaches out to touch her spirit, he hesitates for a second. Doubt rises in him. Does he have the right? Then he pushes his doubt aside and touches her heart gently.

She does not feel it, does not notice, lost in thoughts and memories as she is. Memories of a life of toil, easy laughter, a family raised, and foundations built. Eleven children did she bear; five daughters and six sons. All of them healthy and strong. She saw to that, even if it meant that she went hungry more than once. Her children were fostered with love and determination, she taught them to love and fear God, to be respectful of their elders, honest to the bone, work hard and love their neighbor. They all grew up to become solid members of society, dedicated participants in their communities.

Her heart sings to him about what's important in her life. Family, children and children's children and their children, God, Church and community. He takes comfort in that song, feels it harmonize with his own Heart. But as he delves deeper into her theme, he finds the quiet, empty place where loss still lingers. His fist clench slightly, and he closes his eyes briefly. She has been carrying that emptiness with her for a lifetime; for him it has only been a single breath. The emptiness bears his mark and his name.

They met in the early spring of her life. She fell in love, and he loved her back. But theirs was not a love that could be fulfilled, it was not her path. He came to know that, so he left -- and broke her heart in the process. But there was strength in her, so she healed after a fashion and met a new beau whom she married. That man was the father of her children and the bane of her existence. He died in a drunken brawl when their littlest one was only six. The hardships she suffered at his hands made an imprint on her, but as with every other obstacle in her life, she quietly and stubbornly overcame it. No more will be said about it.

He sees all this in her heart, as he has done so many times before. And he wonders. Would her life have been easier if she had never fallen for him? Was it wrong for him to interfere like he did, indulging in romance with a beautiful young girl with the purest of souls and gayest of hearts? Many are the times he has tried to learn the answer to those questions, and failed. He knew how much he hurt her, so he has kept watch over her personally.

The old woman sighs softly and rubs her arthritic fingers gently. It's time to get back to her apartment. The big, powerful man behind the sycamore nods to himself and draws away. A few seconds later, he is nowhere to be seen.

She rises from the bench, slowly and painfully. Her back is bent and crooked, spine resembling an 'S' more than anything. Withered hands grip the handles on her walker, and she stands.

I fold my newspaper and stand up. It is time.

A shiver passes through her and her hands lose their grip on the walker's handles. Her knees give out and she slumps heavily back onto the bench, pain flashing up her spine. A low moan escapes her lips, as her breathing becomes ragged and labored.

I sit down next to her and take her hands in mine. I look into her eyes, and I see her fear melt away even as she struggles to breathe, while her heart beats its final few beats. There is regret that she didn't get to tell them all farewell, didn't get to see all the little ones one last time. But her faith is as strong as ever and she knows that the time has come for her to rest. As she draws her final painful breath, she smiles to me. I smile back to her and embrace her, letting my soul take flight with hers.

Now it is my turn to watch her from behind a great tree. They do not know this, but he was instrumental in securing her Destiny. The love she had known with him kept her through all the hardships. She served his Word well, as she fulfilled mine. But she was never one to let anyone off without his or her just praise or punishment -- and so it comes to pass that the Archangel of Stone gets a most righteous wallop from the woman whose heart he broke all those years ago...


End file.
